


Third Attempt

by General_Button



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Omega!Sherlock, PWP, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1500584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Button/pseuds/General_Button
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock attempting to get pregnant is even more volatile than Sherlock in heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Attempt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kenopsia (indie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indie/gifts).



> Note that while this is completely consensual, the scenario depicts something similar to non-con and rape, which may be upsetting for some users. Unbeta'd, so forgive my mistakes.

Sherlock attempting to get pregnant is even more volatile than Sherlock in heat.

Truth be told, the two instances go hand in hand, so John isn’t completely surprised when Sherlock starts thrashing. This is only their third attempt, after all.

John has his cock out, ready to push into his mate, and Sherlock, feeling vulnerable and free of both heat suppressants and birth control, makes a sound. His eyes are wide—very wide. He wants this, John knows. This baby is important to them. Something planned. Wanted.

But omegas will be omegas. Sherlock can’t help his instinct, and his limbs twitch wildly like some kind of odd octopus before he starts fighting John.

Despite the ache in his balls and the scent of his mate in _heat,_ John calmly (okay, as calmly as he can be, which is fairly calm) pulls him forward just as his tentacles sneak out from behind his back. It’s only a mechanism that alphas can use when both parties are wanting, and only in heat. The human population isn’t running around with tentacles flailing, as amusing as that would be.

Sherlock stills briefly as the tentacles wrap around his ankles, and then he seems to realize what’s happening and he’s moving harder. “Please, John. John!” he cries, although John has never been entirely sure if it’s a protest or some sort of mating call for help. Either way, he knows what Sherlock needs.

“There we are. Shhh. There we go,” he breaths as Sherlock is pinned down, his tiny cock jutting proudly from his body. He’s leaking harder now, his fluids staining the bedsheets.

John feels light-headed. It’s good that the tentacles have a mind of their own because he can’t possibly focus when Sherlock is calling his name like that, looking like he does. He places his hands on Sherlock’s hips, rubbing his fingers over the bones.

“Beautiful. Gorgeous. Mine.” He repeats this a few times. John’s voice grows louder, until it becomes a growl and more tentacles are surging from his back, sliding across Sherlock’s sweat-slick skin. “Look at you. Just look at you. All mine. And I’m going to put a baby in you.”

That stops Sherlock. His eyes snap open and he stares at John, lips parting to make way for a strangled groan as a tentacle brushes his nipple. He struggles again, but it’s half-hearted. John brings his leg up, pushing it forward, far enough so that he can kiss Sherlock’s toes one by one. He wants him to know how attractive his alpha finds him like this, spread out and ready for him.

When Sherlock makes a high keening sound that John knows all too well—usually a signal for when he’s about to come—he’s is irritated to find one of his tentacles have slipped inside his made. It undulates slowly, working deeper before pulling back out.

John growls. He remembers his arousal, remembers that he’s in charge, that Sherlock is in heat, and the game is over. John pulls his own tentacle out forcefully, forgetting that he can do it by mere will, and shoves his cock inside Sherlock.

Well, he tries. It’s awkward and he can’t get the fucking angle with Sherlock _squirming_ , so John slaps his thigh as a means to stop him for even a second and—

“Ohh. Fuck yes. _Yes_.” John starts thrusting inside Sherlock, barely a few inches in, but he doesn’t care. His cock is so hard, the knot almost completely inflated. Nothing feels better than the tight heat that is Sherlock’s perfect arse.

Sherlock goes wild. He rakes his fingernails down John’s chest first, doing his best to leave marks. He wants John to _bleed_. John, experienced by now, wraps two tentacles around Sherlock’s wrists, forcing him back.

The only problem with that is that during sex—and particularly heat—it’s difficult to gather the right amount of focus to control them. The tentacles want to twitch uselessly, absorbing pleasure, but John has a job to do. Sherlock will hurt himself if he lets him continue to struggle.

Snapping his teeth just above Sherlock’s nose, John pauses in his movements and grabs Sherlock’s wrists before deciding what to do with them. When he meets Sherlock’s eyes, which are wide with a culmination of shock and arousal, John decides to press them together above his head.

With that sorted, John goes about fucking Sherlock.

John is rough in the way alphas always are, barely giving Sherlock time to breathe, hissing things like _mine_ and _you’re so gorgeous like this stretched around my cock let me fuck you breed you_. Sherlock’s chest is high as he strains, fingers wriggling in John’s hold. He looks as though he’s struggling, but his hips are clearly moving eagerly into John’s, and his cries are not of pain, but of pleasure.

When John’s knot starts to catch his rim, he howls. Rather than give in, he struggles to escape. Sherlock’s little cock weeps onto his belly, twitching with each powerful thrust. John only releases him when familiar tears start to streak down Sherlock’s cheeks.

Sherlock starts holding onto to him, probably caught between his need and urge to escape. It isn’t surprising, and John gentles, his thrusts now short and sharp. It isn't long before the two of them find rhythm, working in tandem for however long the period will last. Sherlock clings to John as if he wants to crawl inside and become a part of him. John bites Sherlock’s shoulder gently (no deep bite, they agreed), focused only on one thing: breeding his mate.

When his mouth isn’t in use, he’s embarrassingly aware that he’s babbling nonsense, horrible things like _you’re my bitch my omega MINE_ but he can’t bring himself to care. And Sherlock has already come again; he can feel it against his stomach.

John shifts back, forcing himself to remember to use the tentacles to restrain Sherlock’s flailing limbs. Now that he’s further into the breeding process, defense mechanisms are working to extract any unwanted alpha, no matter how much Sherlock actually does want this. They catch his ankles and slide halfway up his calf before tightening. John tests Sherlock’s strength, slowly matching each violent kick in vigor until Sherlock is completely immobilized. “There we go,” he sighs, relieved, his knot is big—too big for Sherlock, he fears.

“Sherlock, honey,” he coos, stroking his thigh. “Need you—“ he has to pause when John clenches, the sore muscle around his prick fluttering. “Gonna need you to relax. If at all possible.”

Sherlock thrashes more, jerking his hips against the hard knot. John doesn’t want to hurt Sherlock, but he’s about to come and there’s no way he can _not_ knot him. If he doesn’t take him now, Sherlock will struggle the rest of the heat, if John can even get that far. So he starts to thrust shallowly, trying to work up another orgasm in his high-strung mate.

Sherlock for his part pants wildly, his limbs taught against the slippery tentacles. “John, oh John,”  he pants senselessly, swallowing as a tentacle almost wraps around his throat. John catches it just in time, deciding that enough is enough. He starts to thrust, alternating between sharp jabs and long, deep thrusts.

Surprisingly, Sherlock becomes more receptive the more John moves. Maybe it’s because John had been reduced to mere grunts, barely managing a _gorgeous, god_ here and there. When the knot finally makes it halfway through, Sherlock clamps down, his scream audible to anyone in a ten mile radius. Hopefully the scent will alert them to what is happening. God knows Sherlock wants this.

“Sherlock. Christ, you’re so beautiful like this,” John articulates, taking Sherlock’s prick in hand. Sherlock’s head lolls to the side and he bites his lip, obviously fighting the urge to come. “You have no idea how much- just- if you would stop resisting…“ The knot can’t quite make it, so John decides to hell with it and fights dirty. His teeth scrape along Sherlock’s throat, his pulse fluttering under his tongue.

“Forgive me for this later. I said it would be a last resort…” John kisses his collarbone in an apology and finds a tender spot. Sherlock’s struggle are renewed once he realizes what’s going on, and his foot manages to slip free; his heel collides with John’s hip just as he bites down, and it causes the bite to be much harder than he intended. His teeth sink into Sherlock’s skin, who howls until his throat goes hoarse. Then, Sherlock’s entire body goes stiff, and then like a cable cut free, he falls completely limp, his voice tapering off until it’s a contented purr.

 _Bloody hell_. John takes the brief opportunity to see to his need, pulsing with arousal, and slams into Sherlock, who’s now-free legs curl around his waist as he comes with a plaintive cry. _Christ. Finally._ John whimpers against Sherlock’s chest as he finally comes, seeing and hearing only white noise for what feels like ages.

When he comes to, Sherlock’s hand is stroking his back. He can feel the tremors; his muscles are overused and sore, twitching against the pulse of John’s knot. He feels himself ejaculate for the second time, well aware there will be many more before even the first knot has gone down. Sherlock makes a soft noise. John notes that his tentacles are gone for the moment, thankfully, and Sherlock looks about half dead in front of him.

“You were so good,” Sherlock drawls, completely out of it. When he hiccups, he starts to giggle. He’s so high on dopamine and endorphins that he barely registers the knot, or even his own exhaustion. Mating is supposed to be the most intense experience of an omega’s life, if the stories are to be trusted.

John doesn’t feel too far behind. He smiles into Sherlock’s skin, kissing his right breast. “You were wonderful. My rambunctious, fantastic omega. But we still have the rest of the heat to go. Don’t die on me now.”

Rather than an answer, he hears Sherlock snore. _Well_ , thinks John, _I suppose it’s all right_. It’s more sleep than what he’ll get later, when even John finds it hard to sate the omega’s constant need. That’s when tentacles will really come in handy.

John shifts them carefully until Sherlock is resting against his chest. He resists the urge to wake Sherlock and share this moment, curling his arms around Sherlock waist. His breath is hot on his neck but John feels no further urge to mate. Once the knot slips, they may have ten to twenty minutes before his next wave hits. He’ll have to make Sherlock drink water and if possible, eat.

When Sherlock murmurs something unintelligible, John kisses his forehead and settles in for the wait.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory tentacle fic? Who _doesn't_ need tentacles?


End file.
